


Don’t Call It a Trend

by skoosiepants



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Stiles was in denial about his crush. Who wouldn't have a crush on Derek Hale, right? Big, dark and broody, cheekbones he wants to rub his thumbs all over, just about the best ass Stiles has ever seen on a human being. Stiles isn't made of stone here, he has wants and needs and teenage hormones. That Stiles has always found Derek attractive has never been in question.</p><p>But this, this right here, is making Stiles doubt his normally awesome observational skills and judgement. </p><p>Or -</p><p>Derek comes back to BH with a mustache, and Stiles just can't get over it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t Call It a Trend

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr for kavesinisukka:  
>  _Prompt time: I've been wanting Derek to come back to BH with that ridiculous 70s pornstache Hoechlin has in his new movie. And Stiles just being unable to get over it._
> 
> Cleaned up a bit! Title is from The Format. Hoechlin’s facial hair is ridiculous and unfairly beautiful anyway, I don’t know how he manages that.

"I don't understand," Stiles says, sitting on top of the picnic table in his backyard. He frames out Derek's face with his hands, squints his eyes a little, like maybe he's imagining it.

Nope, still happening.

"Do you think he lost a bet with Cora?" His hair is _feathering_ , he looks like he should be wearing tube socks and a brown leather jacket. He's a pair of BluBlockers away from being a 70s porn star, it's ridiculous.

"He seems more relaxed," Scott offers with a shrug. He's tapping his fingers on his knees and staring at the burgers his dad's grilling and probably only paying sixty percent attention to what Stiles is actually saying.

That Derek has shown up after nearly a year of being gone and is suddenly _chewing gum_. How his big shoulders hang loosely under a too-tight ringer t-shirt. How he throws his head back when he laughs, and blushes when Stiles's dad claps him on the shoulder. And how there's a big hairy mustache over his upper lip and no one is mentioning it. No one is bringing it up at all, how there's possibly a dead animal attached to Derek's face now; it's big enough to be a squirrel or a small kitten or a ferret—what is happening here?

And the real tragedy of this entire situation, the thing that is hurting Stiles, deep down inside, is that whatever is going on with Derek is totally doing it for him. Crap.

*

It's not that Stiles was in denial about his crush. Who wouldn't have a crush on Derek Hale, right? Big, dark and broody, cheekbones he wants to rub his thumbs all over, just about the best ass Stiles has ever seen on a human being. Stiles isn't made of stone here, he has wants and needs and teenage hormones. That Stiles has always found Derek attractive has never been in question.

But this, this right here, is making Stiles doubt his normally awesome observational skills and judgement.

"I want his face on my face," Stiles says, completely baffled, and Malia gives him a long-suffering sigh.

She says, "That's great," and turns up the volume on the TV.

"I want that thing on his face on my face," Stiles clarifies. Does she understand the magnitude of weirdness involved in this? That Derek looks like a trucker from a _Fall Guy_ rerun, and Stiles just wants to grip his hair and get 'stache burn all over his throat? How far Stiles has fallen into the—oh shit. Oh shit, he's in love.

That's the only explanation.

*

Before this past month, Stiles hadn't seen Derek for a year. The last time Stiles saw Derek he'd just lost his alpha powers and Cora was barely alive, and Stiles had given him a long, firm hug goodbye, one that Derek graciously never said he overstayed; he even patted his back a little in ways that were only slightly awkward.

There had been gruff, "See you"s and if Stiles had to clear his throat around a lump of tears, well. He figured he hid it pretty well.

And now Derek is leaning on the blunt end of an ax handle, chewing gum with a smirk on his face and watching Scott try to split firewood with his bare hands.

"I don't even know what this is," Stiles says, staring at them. There are beams of sunlight dappling through the trees. Birds are singing. He's unfairly turned on.

Kira, wide-eyed beside him, says, "Oh no," hands clasped to her chest.

And then, like, Stiles has a brain aneurism, obviously, and Scott and Derek are helping each other take their tight shirts off and Kira says, "Oooohhh no," again.

Stiles's heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest and fall to the ground in a bloody, dying heap.

"Who does that?" Stiles says, riveted. "I feel like I'm watching the opening sequence of a porno." He shouldn't be thinking about Scott in anyway connected to porn, but for god's sake _what is happening here_?

Kira has a hand over her mouth now, squeaky sounds spilling out between her fingers.

It's steamy hot out and Derek is dripping with sweat, his long hair curling over his nape as he lifts the ax to slice through a thick log like it's nothing, while Scott tosses the fallen pieces into an ever-growing pile. Who needs this much firewood in the middle of summer?

Kira says, "I'm going home now," but she doesn't move a muscle.

Stiles should leave, too. When Derek stretches out his back with a groan, muscles rippling, he blindly reaches for Kira's hand and holds on.

*

Love isn't a lot different than lust, Stiles thinks. There's just more feelings involved. So, like, Stiles has this swell of either nausea or excitement roll over him when he answers the front door and Derek is standing there, smiling at him.

He's wearing obscenely short running shorts and a tight tank top and Stiles grips the doorframe to keep his knees from buckling.

"I was in the neighborhood," Derek says, flushed and not a whit out of breath, despite the sweat marks all over his chest and underarms.

Stiles invites him in for water, because that's the friendly thing to do. And then he somehow ends up not being surprised at all when Derek backs him into the kitchen counter and presses their hips together.

"You've been flirting with me," Stiles says accusingly. All that wood chopping and bonding with his dad and Scott and also last night, when he took the last beer bottle, dangled it between his fingertips and cocked a hip and elbow around Stiles in a corner of the newly rebuilt Hale house. He'd pressed the cool bottle against the inside of Stiles's arm and grinned slyly at him when he'd jumped. Stiles figured he was being an asshole, but in retrospect, the jump had curved him just that little bit more under Derek's arm. Huh.

In response, Derek curls his fingers over the front of Stiles's pants and tugs.

*

The mustache is soft, and there's nearly no evidence of shenanigans, which Stiles is only a little disappointed about. His hair's a mess and he rubs his fingers over swollen lips, but there's none of the stubble burn he'd been imagining on any of his exposed body parts.

And then Derek appears behind him in the bathroom mirror and tucks his face into the crook of Stiles's neck and Stiles accidentally elbows him in the stomach because, goddamnit, it _tickles_.

Derek gives him a pained _oof_ , and then wraps his arms around Stiles's waist and drags him backward until they're flopped down on the bed again, and the tickling drags down his collarbone, his stomach, the crease of his hip, and then it doesn’t tickle anymore.

*

"I am of age," Stiles tells his dad sagely over a cup of coffee. They're having a stare-off while the shower runs upstairs and Stiles prays—prays to whatever werewolf god is listening—that his dad leaves for his shift before Derek is done.

There's bonding over burger grilling and then there's having sex with his son while he's sleeping in the next room over. Stiles thinks it'll be okay, eventually, but in the meantime it's best to keep the sheriff and the ex-accused murderer turned boyfriend—boyfriend?—far far apart.

His dad narrows his eyes and says, "I'm aware," in a voice that doesn't bode well for anyone's future. He just pushes back his chair, though, and takes his cup and plate to the sink, and says, "We're talking about this later."

Stiles deflates into his seat with a long sigh. "Later, yeah," he says, and hopes some supernatural crisis crops up to stave off that 'later' forever.

*

It's not like Stiles can will supernatural crises into existence with his mind, so he has no business feeling guilty about the vampires, but he kind of feels guilty about the vampires anyway.

"I thought you said they didn't exist!" Stiles says, trying his best not to trip and fall on his face as they flee through the woods from motherfucking _vampires_.

A whole nest of them, although vampires are a lot shorter and uglier than he or Stephenie Meyer ever imagined.

"They're not vampires, Stiles," Derek says. He yanks on Stiles's arm to keep him from clipping a tree branch, and then skids them down a freaking ravine and into a creek. He rolls them so Stiles lands on top, and then they're both wet and panting and Stiles just thanks god it's summer, because the stream is bordering on freezing.

"Geez," Stiles says, and, "Crap," and, "Shouldn't we keep moving?" when Derek fails to do anything but wrap his arms even tighter around Stiles and nuzzle in.

"They won't come in the water," Derek says, and kisses him.

So, hey, who is Stiles to pass that up?

And then Stiles gets all high from the almost dying thing and then the making out in the water stuff and tells Derek he's in love with him.

*

It's not that Derek shuts him down. He just gets a little _cagey_ , and if he thinks Stiles is going to give up on him just because his response to Stiles’s, "I love you," was a breathy, "That's nice," then he's got another think coming.

Stiles is _built_ for rejection. Stiles has motherfucking stamina for pining, and this isn't even really pining, considering the fact that Stiles and Derek have sex on the regular.

Stiles mainly feels like Derek doesn't know exactly how in love with him he is, and given Derek's track record in the dating department, Stiles doesn't blame him.

Stiles cups his hands around Derek's face, fondly watches the sway of his hair under the flow of creek water, and says, "You're ridiculously hot. You're an asshole. You think 5am is a perfectly reasonable hour to wake up, you blush when the diner waitress tops off your coffee, and you're as casually gay as you were casually straight for the first three years I knew you—"

"Bi," Derek says, interrupting him, and Stiles blinks a lot as he clarifies: "I was always bi, Stiles, you were just extremely underage and off limits."

"Not _extremely_ ," Stiles says, rolling his eyes and that's when the little vampire, leprechaun, pixie things shoot a dart into his neck and he passes out.

*

By the time Stiles comes to, all the evil, blood sucking fae have been viciously ripped apart, limbs scattered to the four winds, and if Stiles was doubting Derek's feelings for him before, he certainly isn't now.

"My hero," he says, and fears a little for his sanity for liking the way Derek's still sporting a semi-fang as he pushes his tongue into his mouth.

*

"Okay," Stiles says, pressing his shoulder up against Scott's, leaning into him as they watch Derek and his dad stiltedly try to talk about the big slabs of meat his dad's currently charring on the grill, and not the elephant that was him finding Derek's hand down Stiles's pants in the kitchen nearly an hour ago. "Okay, but here's the big question—does it disappear when he shifts?"

Inquiring minds want to know. So far Stiles has seen Derek go full wolf, but he was a little unconscious for the vampire thing, so.

So. He nudges Scott when Scott just groans.

"It's a legit question, Scotty! Your eyebrows slide down into mutton chops, does the 'stache just make his throat fluff out? Does he get a sudden swell of chest hair?"

Derek shoots him a half-hearted glare across the yard, but it's hard to tell if it's about the hair thing or the fact that Stiles just slipped out of Derek's stunned arms and left Derek to muddle through the shovel talk with his dad all alone.

That's what he gets for wearing a button up shirt open practically to his waist, the harlot.

"I'm not talking about this with you," Scott says, bristling a little.

They're always so touchy about their beta forms, geez. Stiles pats his back in mock sympathy and says, "Don't worry. I'll get him to do it naked and let you know."

"Please don't," Scott says with a grimace.

"Oh, please do," Kira says, and Stiles gives her a fist bump.

*

"This is amazing," Stiles says.

Derek says, "I hate you," but he's kind of smiling around his fangs, so _whatever_.

The mustache doesn't move a single inch in beta form, it's freaking spectacular.

"You're a weirdo," Derek says when Stiles gives in to temptation and rubs his hands all over the place where his mutton chops turn into the fur above his lip. He's like an old timey werewolf; he just needs a bowler hat and a western drawl and maybe even a paisley waistcoat with a watch fob attached. _Awesome_.

"Pshaw, you love me," Stiles says absently, still mesmerized by the complete ridiculousness that is Derek in all forms.

And then Derek's face melts back to human and his hair is long enough now to curl over Stiles's hands where they press into the base of his neck and he only looks a little pained when he admits, "I kind of do."

It's a revelation. It's the heavens opening up with a chorus of angels. Stiles's insides light up and his arms tingle—are those the signs of an impending heart attack?—and he might end up swooning in a manly fashion, but it's totally okay.

Derek will catch him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write stuff on [tumblr](http://pantstomatch.tumblr.com)


End file.
